


Celestial

by SooperSara



Series: Zutara Week 2020 [4]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, F/M, One Shot, Podfic, Soulmates, Zutara Week, Zutara Week 2020, celestial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25541290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SooperSara/pseuds/SooperSara
Summary: An unexpected dip into the koi pond at the North Pole brings Zuko in contact with the spirits and grants him insight to his destiny. A destiny he isn’t sure he wants.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Zutara Week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825771
Comments: 28
Kudos: 239
Collections: Zutara Week 2020, Zutara- some of my fave fics





	Celestial

**Author's Note:**

> ####  [▶ Podfic](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1B_AbHIL3JdJ4vnZdbVfFIPSPzp2RWh88/view?usp=sharing)

Zuko is used to being at a disadvantage. In every fight, against every opponent, he is always the weaker combatant.

But the waterbender has never been much of a problem for him. Until now.

"Stay—" she hurls a blast of water at Zuko, "—away—" a wave washes in from the side, catching him off guard, "—from him!"

Zuko is already at his limits. His face, his ribs still ache from the explosion that took his ship, and in the dimness of evening, his flames lack their usual force, their usual heat. Uncle would tell him that he needs rest. Uncle would say that Zuko isn't focused enough on his breathing, on the fundamentals of his element, and that the trek through frozen landscapes and hellish black waters to reach the Avatar in this city of ice has drained him. That Zuko would do better to retreat to some warm, hidden cavern to sleep and allow the sun's weak, watery rays to refuel him.

But he can't wait. He needs this victory. Taking the Avatar home to his father is Zuko's destiny.

His flames sputter in another deluge from the waterbender, and an icy tendril of water wraps around his ankle and lifts him off the ground. Zuko braces himself for the inevitable impact.

It doesn't come. Or the impact he expects—an impact with the rocky banks of the pond—never comes. Instead, he is plunged into the center of the water, and down, farther and farther below the surface.

The water is warmer than he expects. Certainly warmer than the channels he swam in the dead of night, warm enough that the little air left in his lungs isn't forced out by the shock of the cold.

Light shines through his eyelids, and Zuko opens his eyes to a flash of brightness. It shouldn't be so bright underwater, it shouldn't be warm at the North Pole—everything is askew, but he has no time to think about that, and he swims for the surface with the strength he has left.

The light moves with him, and through the muffled sounds of the world above he hears something else. Something close. Something clear.

That doesn't make sense. Nothing should sound clear down here. And yet it almost feels as though something is whispering in his ear.

"Off to a rough start, my prince."

He flinches. The voice is just over his shoulder, like a person whispering to him in an odd, high voice. He almost looks back. The clarity of the voice should be impossible down here, and a part of him burns to know where it is coming from, what kind of being is in the pond with him—surely there has to be something other than those two fish—but he is running out of air. He needs to get out. He needs to reach the surface.

His hands reach upward, but rather than closing on the stones of the bank, they stop short at the water's rippling surface, held back as if behind a wall.

No, no, no, no, no. He swims closer, and again he is unable to reach the air above. It is close, so, _so_ close, and he can't break through.

"There is no need to hurry," the odd, high voice whispers to him. "Time means nothing here."

No. No, no, no, he needs to get out of the water. The waterbender must have frozen him in the pond. He can't see any ice, can't _feel_ any ice—the boundary between the pond and the air is just as warm as everything else, but ice is the only explanation that makes sense. His lungs protest, but he channels all the energy he can muster into his hands. He's done this before. If he can melt his way out again, he'll be able to survive. He'll be able to claim his destiny, his _honor,_ and return home.

"You have seen your destiny already, my prince. But you have not realized it. You have not stopped to recognize—"

Desperate for air, he swipes a hand backward in hopes of driving away the voice. The ice isn't melting. Why isn't it melting? Why is the surface still rippling overhead? Ice doesn't ripple. Does it?

He is stuck under the surface of the pond. He's going to die here. He's going to drown, and he isn't even certain whether the waterbender is to blame or not.

"Turn around." The voice is even closer. "You must see and you must listen."

No. He can't. He can't turn around. He can't waste his energy. He needs to breathe.

"You will not drown, my prince. Turn and recognize your destiny."

The voice is still clear, so unbelievably clear through the water, even over the frantic roar of his pulse. How is the voice still clear when his vision is beginning to darken at the edges?

He turns his head, and everything spins. He could almost swear that the koi are staring at him.

"You are one of a pair." It almost looks like the fish—both of them—are speaking. "You have found your match, your destiny. Recognize her and you will be free."

_Her?_ Who is _her?_ And why are fish talking to him? Fish don't talk. Or they shouldn't.

Stabs of pain rip through his chest, demanding air.

"She is before you. See her. Know her."

Zuko blinks, his vision spinning, and for an instant, he thinks he sees the waterbender across from him. Only she is different—possibly older, her hair hanging loose, and smiling— _laughing._ Her hand extends toward him and almost touches his scar.

"Her name," the fish say. "Know her name."

His mind is foggy. He's heard her name before, he knows he has. But princes don't remember names of those below their stature, he learned that lesson well. He has done his best to forget the names he shouldn't know—but then it surfaces. _Katara._ The waterbender is named Katara.

There is a surge of energy and motion, and before he knows it, Zuko is propped on his elbows, hanging halfway out of the water. He coughs over and over again, ribs aching. Air. Precious, precious air.

It takes all his strength to pull himself to his hands and knees on the edge of the pond, and he remains there on his knees, shaking with the effort to regain his breath. He wants to lie down in the unnaturally soft grass, to succumb to the exhaustion that weighs on every limb, to allow sleep to drive the eerie voice out of his mind. But he can't. He can't drive out the echoes of the voice, and he doesn't have the luxury of time to consider its meaning.

He staggers to his feet and turns on the spot, head spinning, to search for Ka— _the waterbender._

No, not her. Not the waterbender. The Avatar. Zuko needs to find the Avatar.

The oasis seems different than when he plunged beneath the waves, darker, and when his eyes finally focus, he finds Zhao beside the pond. There is a flash of flame, and when Zuko blinks, the sky turns red as blood. He blinks again and Zhao is gone. In his place, the waterbender's friends— _the Avatar's_ friends kneel at the edge of the pond, and a girl with white hair touches the surface of the water. Another blink, and the white-haired girl is gone, and Kata— _the waterbender_ —stares up at him.

She can see him? It feels impossible, it feels like Zuko is hardly present.

"Where did _you_ come from?" Her tone is accusatory, like Zuko's disappearance into the pond was some sort of cruel prank.

_Where did you throw me?_ he wants to ask. _How long was I gone?_ The darkened sky is growing lighter, though he only remembers mere minutes in the pond—longer than he should have survived, but minutes nonetheless—and a few blurry moments after he emerged.

Before he can form the words, Uncle rushes in and wraps him in a crushing hug. It hurts. Breathing hurts—but then Uncle releases him and steps back, holding Zuko's shoulders.

"We must go, Prince Zuko. The siege has failed. There is little time."

Zuko is aware that he should look for the Avatar. That if he can spot the little monk, there might still be a chance, however faint, of bringing him back to the Fire Nation. But Zuko can't seem to tear his eyes away from the waterbender. Her gaze, though full of loathing, holds him captive. Part of him thinks that she might have the answers, that if he can only ask, she will know what the voice meant. _You have found your match._ It can't be what it sounds like. It doesn't make sense. His match in battle? His match in—some other way?

Uncle shakes him. "Prince Zuko!"

He can't stop staring. He feels like he's staring into twin pools of water, like he's falling, about to be pulled in—

Uncle pulls him away, and Zuko can feel the old man staring, but the instant he breaks free, Zuko begins to run. He can't stay here, he needs to get away, to go anywhere else in the world if it means he won't drown in one of those pools again.

Uncle leads him down to the gates of the city where a raft awaits. Zuko hurts from the running, hurts from the fight and the exertion of— _everything._ When Uncle tells him to rest, Zuko doesn't think twice. Adrift on a few meager planks on the half-frozen sea, he closes his eyes.

* * *

"You must be the one."

Zuko jolts awake, the motion disrupting the raft, and he groans, pressing a hand to his ribs. It still aches. Even though the explosion was days ago, and the near drowning was hours ago, his chest still hurts.

Uncle snorts and rolls over, and Zuko blinks until his eyes focus. A girl perches on the end of the raft, faintly glowing, legs crossed, white hair flowing as if underwater.

The girl tilts her head. "I can feel it. You are Katara's match." She stretches forward to inspect him, and Zuko slides as far back as he dares. The girl frowns. "You seem scared. I promise you don't have to be. Katara is very nice. She is—she _was_ my friend."

Zuko shakes his head. He has to be imagining things. Again. There's no way a glowing, white-haired girl is on the raft. Just like there's no way that two fish nearly drowned him to tell him some nonsense about the waterbender. _Katara_ , something in the back of his mind whispers. _Her name is Katara._ He pushes it back down. He will not use the waterbender's name. That is beneath him.

Or it was. He's not sure what, if anything is still beneath him now, as disgraced as ever and floating out to sea on a raft.

"What—what are you talking about?" he croaks, voice rough from disuse. When was the last time he spoke? He isn't sure he can remember that far back. "What does that even mean? My match?"

The girl sits back and shrugs. "I'm not sure. This is my first day as the moon spirit. All I have is the knowledge that Tui left me."

"And your little fish told you—"

"That you and Katara are matched. I don't know what it means, but I can feel that it's true. Your destinies are intertwined."

Zuko jerks backward. No. He refuses to entertain the thought. He is not tied to that—that _peasant._ Her name rises up in the back of his mind and he forces it down. No, no, _no._ His destiny is to capture the Avatar. His destiny is to go home, to restore his honor, to take his rightful place as heir to the throne once again. He can't— _won't_ entertain this madness.

The glowing girl looks sad. "Fighting it won't help you, Prince Zuko. You and Katara are a matched pair. Nothing can change that. But if you accept it, then maybe it will be easier for you. Maybe destiny will be kinder."

"No," Zuko chokes out. "You're _wrong._ I know my destiny, and it has nothing to do with—" He nearly says the waterbender's name and stops short. His mind is playing tricks on him, trying to convince him that these lies are real. He won't fall into that trap. He will not use the waterbender's name.

"I'm sorry, Prince Zuko. I'm sorry that I don't have any truths to comfort you." The girl sits a little straighter. "I will watch over you. You and Katara both. I'm not sure what I can do as the moon spirit yet, but if it's in my power, I will make the path easier for you."

* * *

On nights when the moon is visible, it's almost impossible to sleep. Even in the daytime, Katar— _the waterbender—_ breaks into his thoughts. The shimmering vision of her smile, of her hand stretching toward his scar, is hard enough to escape at the best of times. When he is too slow to drive the thoughts away, he can almost feel the tug again, the strange pulling sensation in the center of his chest trying to draw him toward the waterbender. But at night, when the world descends into quiet, there is nothing to push the thoughts from his mind, and when the moon shines down on him, the other girl—Yue, the one who claims to be the moon—comes too.

She is courteous enough to remain quiet most nights, to allow Zuko to sleep—at least as much as he _can_ sleep while starving aboard a tiny, unstable raft. But when he is awake, Yue sometimes tells him stories about Katara.

He doesn't want to hear them. Every story, every small reminder of the waterbender takes him back to those horrible, breathless moments below the surface of the pond. He doesn't want to listen to anything Yue has to say.

When they finally make it to land, Zuko shuts every door, every window, every curtain in his room. He ignores Uncle's protests about the benefits of fresh air at night and blocks out the moonlight every way he can. And for the first time since the North Pole, he sleeps soundly, without Yue there to fill his head with stories of the waterbender.

But then Azula arrives, and they are uprooted again. It is harder to block out the moonlight on the run, and Zuko is grateful for every new moon, every cloudy night, and every darkened cave they sleep in. Any night that passes without the girl made of moonlight coming to tell him again that the waterbender has a place in his destiny is a welcome relief.

And eventually, Yue seems to understand that. On the rare occasions when his precautions are not enough, she appears, but she is silent. She watches Zuko, she looks sad, but she doesn't remark on the waterbender or Zuko's supposed tie to her. It feels almost like freedom.

Except that Zuko is a fugitive, and the Avatar is still his only way home. Meeting the Avatar means seeing the waterbender again, and he doesn't know if he can bear it. The fleeting images that pass through his memory, the momentary remembrances of his time beneath the surface of the pond—they fill him with an indefinable terror, and he can feel threads tightening their grip inside his chest.

He doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to think about _her._ He does his best not to.

* * *

"Zuko, I can help!"

Her voice sounds earnest enough, but Zuko knows better than to trust it. He can't trust anyone. Much less the girl who the two koi and the spirit of the moon seem to be pushing him toward. He can't risk it. Least of all _now,_ when Uncle is hurt. Uncle, who is the last—the _only_ person Zuko can still trust.

Zuko isn't sure how he manages it, but he drives away the waterbender and all her friends and manages to drag Uncle into a dilapidated shack at the top of the hill. He scarcely realizes how close the Avatar was, how little effort it would have taken to grab the monk. It doesn't matter when Uncle is wounded. And it doesn't matter when letting them stay would have meant that Zuko would be near the waterbender. The few minutes of proximity in battle were enough—he could feel the threads drawing them closer, and he cannot bring himself to think of what it would mean if the threads ever succeeded.

Though he does all he can for Uncle, the old man doesn't wake before the sun goes down and moonlight floods through the broken remnants of the roof and walls. From the corner of his eye, Zuko sees Yue arrive, and his forehead creases as he bows over Uncle again. He isn't in the mood to speak, and even if he could sleep with the girl's glow illuminating the shack, he can't leave Uncle unattended. Not now. Not like this.

"Katara meant what she said, you know." Yue's voice is quiet, like she's afraid of disturbing him, but can't keep the words in. "She wanted to help."

Zuko finds himself shaking, his vision blurring. He blinks the tears away and turns his eyes downward, toward Uncle again. "I don't want to hear it." His hands lock on the singed, frayed edges of Uncle's tunic. The waterbender would never have helped him—she _hates_ Zuko. She always will.

And the idea of entertaining Yue's claims, the possibility that the waterbender could have somehow made this all better—that's even worse.

"Why don't you go bother her instead and leave me alone?" The words burn on their way through his throat.

Yue is quiet for a while, and Zuko manages to gather himself enough to change the damp cloth on Uncle's forehead. This cycle will continue all night, and he wishes he could tend to it without Yue watching over his shoulder.

"I am with Katara as well," Yue eventually tells him. "I am everywhere my light touches, and I can always feel the ties between you. Today your destiny came closer than it ever has before."

He shakes his head. He won't believe it. He refuses to. "Just go."

"I'm afraid I can't leave you, Prince Zuko. You can see me because you had a connection with Tui. I can't break that connection." A pause. "But if you wish, I will stop speaking to you."

Zuko nods. He feels as though he will break. He sees the vision of Katara again, and he is too tired to push it away this time. Would she have done it? Would she have helped Uncle? Would she have helped _him?_

* * *

Uncle heals, though slowly, and they make their way across the Earth Kingdom at a slow, plodding pace. On the nights when Zuko doesn't manage to block out the moonlight, Yue still comes, but she is silent. Exactly as she promised.

The silence is almost worse. The eerie glow still washes over him, still makes it difficult to sleep, and still fills his head with the echoes of the koi's voice— _You are one of a pair. You have found your match, your destiny._ He fights against it with all his strength, but it isn't enough. With no noise to drown out the memories, he can do nothing but lie staring into nothingness and remember.

_Recognize her and you will be free._ He wishes it could be that easy. He wishes that were an option. But it isn't, and Zuko will not dwell on the impossible. Nor will he take back his request for Yue's silence. Though the thought of conversation is sometimes tempting, he will not admit that weakness. He will find his own way to drive Katara out of his mind.

He doesn't realize that her name has embedded itself in his thoughts, that he can no longer remember to correct himself and call her only by her element.

Together, he and Uncle cross toward Ba Sing Se, and Zuko tells himself that he is leaving Katara and the spirits' idea of destiny behind.

* * *

In the catacombs, she rages at him. Wave after wave of it wash over him, but somehow, Zuko doesn't have the will to fight her. He can feel the threads between them, and for once, the two of them seem caught in equilibrium, neither falling toward one another nor straining apart. The balance, he finds, is bearable. More than bearable.

When Katara's voice breaks and she curls into a ball, mourning a loss Zuko knows all too well, he turns back toward her. He can feel the grief, the pain. Even without the threads binding them, he can feel it. He knows that ache. He knows that hollowness.

"I'm sorry. That's something we have in common."

In the space of a breath, the balance topples, and the threads draw them closer. Katara faces him again, and this time, there isn't anger in her eyes, there isn't hatred, there is something else. Something softer. Something raw and exposed, but warm. And when they fall into conversation and her hand drifts up toward his scar, he doesn't flinch away. He trusts her. And maybe, _maybe_ there is some element of truth to what the fish spirits told him. If _this_ is what they meant about his destiny—this tiny moment, alone with her in the catacombs—then maybe he doesn't need to run from it anymore. Maybe this is right.

But it doesn't last. For the briefest instant, her fingertips brushing the lower rim of his scar, Zuko believes that there could be something good, something _right_ about the threads that bind them together. Then half the cavern explodes, and Katara scrambles away from him as fast as her legs will carry her. It feels as though his lungs are being torn from his chest. Even the sadness in her eyes in the slight glance she spares him isn't enough. It hurts. The threads wrapped around his heart rip away as she leaves, and even Uncle doesn't seem to notice the ache concealed beneath Zuko's scowl.

He can't do this. Not ever again. If it hurts this much when a connection breaks after a few minutes, Zuko can never allow a connection to form again.

* * *

He makes his choice. The destiny he has longed for over years of banishment, the destiny that Zuko has almost forgotten, thanks to the spirits' interference, comes to him, and he takes hold of it with both hands. He expects relief. After three long years, he is finally bound for home, but he feels hollow inside.

Zuko stands on the deck of the ship all through the night, staring up at the sky. He has what he wanted. He has a way home, and he can no longer feel the threads that tie him back to Katara. He should be happy. Instead, he cannot sleep, even with the light of the moon blocked out, and the force of his loneliness crushes him. He can't speak to Uncle. There are too many guards around the old man's cell to allow for meaningful conversation. He can't speak to Azula—with her, honesty is a death sentence. The same goes for the crew, Li and Lo, Ty Lee, and Mai.

He is bursting to speak, but there is no one he can safely confide in. So he stands on the deck, bathed in the sickly, fog-tinted moonlight. He can see Yue out of the corner of his eye, quiet and watchful as ever. He wishes he could talk, could spill out all his confusion, the sensation almost like regret that gnaws at his insides. He wishes he could beg for advice, could ask whether he made the right choice. But the words stick in his throat and Yue adheres to her promise of silence. There is no one Zuko can turn to, and even if he could bring himself to speak, he can't risk the possibility of someone overhearing.

Until they dock at the Fire Nation capitol, Zuko does his best not to speak, to suppress the doubts that plague his mind. His guard remains up, and he feels as though his face is a mask. He wishes he _had_ a mask to hide behind. He's never been good at hiding his emotions, and now he has no choice.

At the palace, he has to work even harder to conceal his doubts. The only reprieve comes at night, in the privacy of his own room—the room he thought he'd never see again, still haunted by memories of childhood innocence. The moonlight is easy enough to block out, but on the first night, he lets the curtains hang open and lies awake, staring at the ceiling until the moon rises and Yue arrives.

"What was I supposed to do?" he asks even before Yue can give him her habitual look of sorrow. "In Ba Sing Se— _she_ left. That connection you're always going on about—what does it mean if _she_ breaks it?"

There is quiet for a minute. "You miss Katara?"

Zuko shakes his head. He barely _knows_ Katara. How could he possibly miss her? "You said that we were connected. Isn't that supposed to mean something? I gave it a chance, and _she_ —she _didn't."_ It isn't until his voice starts to shake that he realizes how much it still hurts. "Tell me it was a lie. Tell me that my destiny doesn't have anything to do with her."

"I can't do that."

Zuko sits up so quickly that it almost makes his head spin. "Then what _can_ you tell me? There has to be something. You can't just tell me that she's part of my destiny and expect that to be enough. How is she part of my destiny?"

Yue shakes her head. "I don't know, Prince Zuko. I can feel the threads of destiny, but I can't see where they will lead. I'm afraid none of the spirits can."

He scowls. "I thought you were new to this. I thought you didn't know how the spirits worked."

"I haven't stopped existing since we last spoke. I've learned things." Yue folds her hands in her lap. "No one can see the future for certain, Prince Zuko, not even the spirits. Destiny isn't as fixed as you believe it to be."

A bitter taste rises in his mouth. "But she's still a part of mine?"

A nod from Yue. "The connection may be frayed but it cannot be broken. You and Katara are still bound to one another. You have been and always will be."

A horrid realization washes over him. Destiny—to him, it has always meant that he was meant to be something positive to her. A friend or maybe—maybe something else. And as much as he still resists the idea of being in her life, the thought that it could be entirely the opposite makes him feel sick.

"Am I going to destroy her? Is that what this has been all along?"

Yue studies him. "That isn't what you want, is it?"

Zuko can't find it in himself to respond. His hands are shaking, and he feels like he's at the North Pole again, drowning to hear the spirits speak.

"Destiny takes many shapes, Prince Zuko. If you want to follow a different path, you must find one."

* * *

When he finally leaves the palace, it isn't Katara who occupies his mind. The threads connecting them are still so frayed that he can hardly feel their presence. He can't tell whether he is running toward her or not. All he knows is that he is running, and that he won't stop until he finds the Avatar again. Until the Avatar accepts his help.

He finds them at the Western Air Temple, and Katara is there. He is relieved. Though her eyes burn with hatred, though he knows where the loathing comes from, he can't help but hope. Seeing her again is enough to make him aware of the frayed connections, and though she pushes him away, it still feels possible that someday— _someday_ , she might be willing to give him another chance.

In the meantime, he trains the Avatar, he helps with the chores, and he waits. He won't push her. He knows better than that. He knows what it feels like to be pushed, and he will never ask her to feel that way. And if this is the limit of their connection, the extent of her role in Zuko's destiny—Zuko thinks he can live with that. Standing on the same side of the war as her is more than he ever expected, and it feels right. For the first time in his life, there is no gnawing doubt, no compulsion to keep himself occupied so he doesn't have to think about whether he is right. For once, he fully believes that he is on the right path.

Katara's hostility begins to lose its edge after the first week, and Zuko can finally feel the connections between them again. He doesn't see Yue often—here at the temple, doing the right thing without any doubt, he sleeps well for the first time he can remember. But when he does see the girl who claims to be the moon, Zuko doesn't ask about Katara anymore. The ties are there. He can feel them, he can feel how fragile they've become, but he finds that he doesn't mind not knowing the rest. Whether the ties will heal, what they even _mean_ for him and Katara—all of that will come. For now, Zuko is as close to happy as he knows how to be.

* * *

It almost feels like friendship. On the second day after Katara is reunited with her father, she speaks to Zuko unprompted, she smiles, and Zuko starts to believe that they have come to the end of the hostility. That she has accepted him, and that it will only grow better as time goes on.

But then Azula attacks, and they have to leave without her father. In an instant, they are back where they began.

It hurts more than he expects. He's grown used to the idea of being hated, almost grown _comfortable_ with it in some ways. And yet after a glimpse, however brief, of what it might be like to be her friend, a return to the norm cuts him to his core.

But then she yells at him, and for an instant, he can see all the pain, the grief roiling under the surface. He knows that pain. He's seen it in her before, and he's felt it himself. And after a quick—and awkward, and uncomfortable, and _odd_ —meeting with Sokka, he thinks he knows the answer.

Zuko stands beside her when she insists on leaving, when she drops the Fire Nation captain to his knees with the force of her bending, when she finally faces the man, the _monster,_ who took her mother's life. He only speaks when necessary, and at night, he sees Yue watching them. He doesn't speak to Yue either, he doesn't try to explain himself or assuage the concern in the spirit's eyes. Nothing he could say would matter anyway. This is Katara's journey, Zuko is only here for her.

He isn't certain how she feels when he takes her back to Ember Island, when she waves him off to fetch the others while she explores the estate alone. He doesn't know for certain until he returns and Katara's eyes fill with warmth. She throws herself into his arms, and Zuko feels everything inside him ease. The connection, once frayed, seems almost to glow as he holds her. As she pulls away and smiles up at him, it shines brighter and stronger than ever.

* * *

After, Katara is with him more often than not.

Zuko still doesn't know exactly what it means, but the ties feel stronger, more resilient by the day. If this is what the spirits meant—that this newfound friendship was written in the stars, he is happy with that. Being with her, even as a friend and nothing more, feels right in a way nothing else can match. He learns how to make her laugh, and in turn, rediscovers his own smile, his own laugh. He learns to read her mood and finds that he doesn't mind the loss of his solitude. There are still times when the others become too much, when he retreats from their noise, but with Katara, he never needs to retreat. He could stay by her side forever.

Katara, for her part, surprises him endlessly. She teases and squabbles with him, then asks for help cooking his favorite meals, and springs hugs on him when he least expects it. She trains with him every afternoon, then finds pretty shells in the tidepools and asks him about the creatures that used to live inside them. She gets cross with him when he grumbles, then when he walks into a room, she smiles so bright that he almost can't bear to look her way.

He would do anything for her. For any of them, but for Katara in particular. With her, Zuko can be honest in a way that still feels alien to him, and with him, Katara is vibrant and carefree. He brings her small gifts—seashells with interesting colors and scrolls full of his favorite stories, and sweets that he thinks she'll like. Katara, in turn, gives him her time and her smiles. She tells him stories and asks him questions, and she _listens—_ even when his words get twisted up in his head and come out wrong—and offers him hundreds of small, gentle touches.

For a smile alone, he could win any battle.

For one of her hugs, he could turn the whole world upside down.

* * *

Zuko doesn't have to think when he chooses his companion for the fight. It has to be Katara. It seems like the most obvious choice in the world, and he can hardly remember a time when it was anything less.

When the lightning comes for Katara, the choice is even easier.

Nothing and no one can harm her. Zuko won't let it.

He leaps into the path of the bolt and catches it in his hand.

At the start, it feels exactly the way it's supposed to. The lightning follows the path up his arm, down from his shoulder, and into his stomach. But there, it halts. He isn't grounded, he can't find the path to allow its escape, and the lightning breaks off of the path meant to guide it. He can't tell how far it reaches before he hits the ground and the bolt finally sears its way out his arm, but he knows, somehow, that the damage is immense. With the power still burning through his veins, he tries to raise his head, to reach her _—protect her—_ before it's too late.

He can't make it more than a few inches before his strength runs out and his head hits the ground. It hurts. Everything hurts, and no matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to move.

It's all he can do to keep his eyes focused while he fights to breathe.

He can feel the rush of heat passing overhead as Azula jets around the arena in pursuit of Katara, but everything else is dulled. He feels as though he is underwater. Sounds reach him as faint, distorted echoes, and colors swim before his eyes. It feels like drowning. As hard as he tries, he can't find enough air to fill his lungs, and the small, rasping gulps he manages burn him from the inside out.

He is dying, he realizes. He is dying so Katara might have a chance at survival.

This, he thinks, must be what the spirits meant all along. He is Katara's match because he would happily go in her place. She is his destiny because he is meant to save her life.

He doesn't mind it. He would much rather that she live, even at the cost of his own life. He can no longer imagine what life without Katara would mean, and he will never have to find out.

Blurry minutes pass, and either the world goes silent or he loses the power of hearing. It doesn't matter. He can't breathe anyway. It seems fitting, in a way. He learned of his destiny with Katara by drowning. It's only right that it ends the same way.

There is a bright, bluish light, and Zuko struggles to blink his vision clear. He expects to see Yue beside him to wish him farewell—the moon was full when he fell, he thinks—but the glow is small, and the figure over him dark against the blood-red sky.

The unmistakable shape of a hand presses against his chest, and coolness floods in to wash away the burning in his lungs. Zuko sucks in a full breath, and it doesn't hurt anymore. Or it hurts less than it did before.

"I'm here, Zuko. Don't you dare leave me."

He recognizes Katara's voice, and with another breath, another blink, his vision comes a little clearer. He can make out her face, and he thinks she might be crying.

"Please, please keep fighting."

He raises a hand toward her face, but his strength fails, and it drops back to his chest.

Katara keeps the glowing hand pressed to his chest, slowly reining in the lightning's damage, and the other hand closes around his.

He isn't drowning anymore. He can breathe, and her hands keep him afloat.

**Author's Note:**

> I went hard on the angst this time, didn't I? Hmm. Guess I just like hurting myself (and everyone else). Also, this might be the most soulmate-y thing I'll ever write, but you never know! I liked writing this kind of spirit-y, destiny-ish stuff a lot more than I expected.
> 
> I'm posting for all seven Zutara Week prompts, so you can check out (or subscribe to 😉) [the series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825771) or visit me on [Tumblr](https://soopersara.tumblr.com/)! Comments and kudos are very much appreciated ❤💙


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